


To Be Worthy

by orphan_account



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 12:20:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4564437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They were getting to be old men now, and old men did as they did; they worked, they lived, they waited."</p>
<p>Benvolio must make a decision that will affect his life- and the rest of Verona- forever. Mercutio doesn't help at all. (Written for Day Four of Romeo and Juliet Week)</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Be Worthy

This day had been haunting the back of Benvolio's mind for years: always lingering in the shadows, a constant question of _how?_ and _when?_ Now that it was finally here, however, he felt surprisingly numb; he had expected that he would weep, or drink, react the way he used to years ago. But those days were over now; he had grown from the quiet, despairing boy he once was.

He could never stop thinking about when the people close to him were going to die; he was really close to a few precious people now, so it was always a burden lingering over his head. Eventually everyone would die; the question was always _"will they go before me?"_

The sudden, quite peaceful death of Prince Escalus in his sleep just a few days ago had left Verona in mourning. For a town that had already seen its share of tragedy, the passing of their beloved ruler was a hard blow. Escalus had seen nearly sixty years of rule, and for the last thirty they were of a peaceful Verona; now, with their Prince gone, all anyone could ask was who would follow in his footsteps.

Sitting in the late ruler's office, however, facing Escalus's last remaining nephew and heir, Benvolio had a few different questions on his mind.

He ran a hand over his face, calloused hands tracing down his skin; glancing back up at Valentine, he found that the slightly younger man was meeting his eyes as solemnly as he had when he'd first suggested this arrangement to him. He swallowed heavily. "And... you're sure about this?"

Valentine shrugged his shoulders, a small smile playing on his lips- a smirk that always made Benvolio's stomach twist with longing for the shadow of that same smile on a terribly similar face. "We've been friends for a long time now, Benvolio. For years, you've practically been a brother to me."

"Be that as it may-"

"You know I've never wanted to rule." Valentine's smile turned slightly lopsided, echoing the young boy he used to be, as he reached a hand out to the Montague. "My uncle and I talked it over several times. We both agreed- for lack of an heir, should I chose to abscond the throne to spend my days with my family in peace, the rule of Verona will be passed down to his apprentice, assistant, and friend: Benvolio Montague."

"You're giving the throne up to me?" Benvolio felt like choking.

"Neither of us could think of a better man for the job. For years, you've shown that you have what it takes to be a ruler. You're just, patient, have a way of dealing with people-"

Benvolio let out a shaky laugh. "Oh, are we extolling my virtues now?" His comment was briskly ignored by the royal.

"You have a sharp mind and a will of iron, and you aren't afraid to make hard decisions." Valentine took the other man's hand in his and clasped it. "You will make a fine prince. Better than me."

"But it is not in my blood, and the Della Scalas-"

"Count for little," Valentine interrupted, rising from his seat and walking around the desk- pausing for a minute to examine a large picture hanging on the wall- an image of a blond haired teenager with tanned skin, golden eyes that danced with lightning, and a wicked grin. "They have no suitable heirs at the moment, and besides, they are not in direct line of succession. My uncle's will has named you, Benvolio, as the sole recipient of the crown should I chose to abscond. Like it or not, the rule of Verona has fallen to your hands. This is not a position you are ill-equipped to handle."

It was true that, over the years, Benvolio had- accidentally or not- been well-prepared to take over the rule of the city. Following the Great Tragedy, depression had seized him like a vice; yet after several midnight visits by Mercutio in his dreams (that was all they were, because to consider them reality was something Benvolio was not and would never be prepared for) he had finally managed to kick the bottle away. Following this was a series of apprenticeships, first to Friar Lawrence and then to the Prince himself; under Escalus’s guiding hand he had learned about politics, policy, and rule. He, along with Valentine, had grown up. They were getting to be old men now, and old men did as they did; they worked, they lived, they waited.

He had always known- somewhere in the back of his mind, maybe through hints that they dropped or just his sense of observation- that Escalus might have been considering passing power along to him. But now that they day had finally come, Benvolio faced the question that he’d never quite been able to push out of his mind.

Was he worthy?

_'Yes.'_ He closed his eyes, a shudder running through his frame as the chill of fingers ghosted over his cheek. _There’s no one there,_ he repeated to himself, as if the more times he said it the easier it would be to believe. _There’s no one there. He’s not there._

Mercutio would say yes. Mercutio would tell him that he was ready, had been ready for a long time. If Mercutio could have been there- if, because he wasn’t, he couldn’t be, he could never be there again- he would tell Benvolio that no one could be more worthy of this position than he was.

The image of Mercutio- young, glowing, alive as ever- perched on the back of his uncle’s desk, his position casual and a wry smirk on his face, was suddenly so clear to Benvolio’s mind that his eyes shot open at once. He glanced around the room. Valentine’s back was still turned; besides the other man, he was alone.

Benvolio pressed his lips together. Slowly, shoulders braced and spine straight, Valentine turned.

“So,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “What do you say, Benvolio? Do you accept?”

Benvolio felt the shadow of a pressure on his right hand, chilled and numbing, and he relaxed his fingers into that sensation as he nodded his head. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now I want you to all picture Mercutio busting into the room dancing on poles and singing "I'm Alive" from Next To Normal. That is all.


End file.
